Kokoro no Aki Heart of Fall
by KirasTastefulTragedy
Summary: He's an artist... that cannot capture the heart of fall on his canvas.  Yaoi hints...    weekly challenge fic with Princess Turk  ...  an AU setting.


Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy or its characters, nor do I make any money off of this fanfiction.

Warning: Yaoi… but only hinted. And AU!

[THIS WEEKS CHALLENGE BETWEEN MYSELF AND PRINCESS TURK: ART]

"Kokoro No Aki"

(Heart of Fall)

He enjoyed this time of the day the most. The hours before sunset. The sun would be off to his right and at the perfect angles for the best shadowing in his sketches and paintings. The area was beautiful, so picturesque and comforting. He liked to sit cross legged on the sun warmed well manicured grass and watch the ducks in the edge of the river or the fish jumping.

But most enjoyable was the regular visitor that came this time every day. He was beautiful, but hauntingly so… with a shadow about him of sadness. He would come and sit on the edge of the river with one knee folded under the other leg that held up his braced arm as he would watch the flowing water like it could give him the meaning to life.

Tokyo was beautiful this time of year. The leaves of the thin red maples along this side of the river inside of the park turned a deep burgundy red-brown; And the ambers, gold's, and red's of the other foliage on the other side of the river, made for a stunning backdrop. Though, the beauty of the season made him sad. He couldn't very well come and paint once the snow fell or it was too cold. He could sketch, but his other job… the one that actually made him the money that kept him living in the one room cheap flat, and not on the streets, picked up greatly in the winter.

He worked as an illustrator for a men's journal… and the amount of need for more interesting articles in the wintertime's doubled due to the increased readers during the limited season for activities. He enjoyed his job. But he still wanted something more in life.

He allowed his mind to drift back to the dark stranger that shared this view with him almost daily. He never had the courage to speak to him. But found himself making up different histories to the dark man. His flowing ebony hair was like something out of a fantasy novel. A dark angel of sorts. His eyes seemed to gouge right through you when they glanced your direction… which didn't happen much.

The dark man seemed so sad at times, and others he seemed mystical and deep. Maybe he came here to meditate… or perhaps to delve his mind into the wonders of the universe and questions we all ask. Perhaps though, it was to find solace.

He could never seem to get the picture right. So, not only did he love this particular place in the park, but there never seemed to be an end to the inspiration; whether it be a different color to the setting, a different animal, the way the clouds lay… he could never capture the true beauty.

And the beauty of this place that he wanted to capture was the Heart of Fall… As the chilling season was wearing on and the hues were reaching their peak. The mystic and timeless quality's the love, the passion…

More and more lately his sketches and paintings were beginning to take on a new feel. The shadows crept further into the foreground, the pastel shades of the sky deepened and bled into the cast of the trees and the water. But the largest change was the center of the pictures. What began as a basic landscape started to feature an unremarkable figure, completely shadowed, without sex, and without reason. But the figure always lay or sat by the edge of the river.

As time went on the figure began to morph, taking more shape, taking on a hint of color… the masculinity began to be noticeable. And soon before he realized the ebony hair was curling around the detailed and pale skin of the arms of the figure as he sit basking with his face towards the river. The sunlight as it set with the warm tones cast a glow to the side of his face and hair… giving the picture an ethereal warmth.

He sat reflecting on his sketch and the days that were passing so quickly that he didn't even notice that the subject that had evolved onto his canvas was no longer in the foreground of the scene… but standing over his shoulder.

"Well… I wondered what an artist could find so interesting day after day in the same place… I believe there are laws against such things." A deep smooth voice sounded from over his shoulder, scaring the wits right out of him.

He jumped, upsetting the tray of paints to the grassy ground below where he sat. "Dear lord…"

"My apologies. I didn't intend to scare you, though you did seem quite lost in thought when I walked up. I have noticed you sitting here for quite some time now." The beautiful and pale man said, turning his head and motioning to the little area away from the main park. "I have also seen you watching me, and wondered what was so interesting about me. My name in Vincent by the way." He extended his hand to shake, obviously to show he meant no harm.

Though still quite shaken up the flush that managed to fight its way past the bloodless feel of his face, pinked his cheek's just enough to shame him as he felt the warmth of it. "I… My… name is Tseng…" He extended his own hand and gently took the long fingered and broad hand… it engulfed his own just as he'd imagined it would all the times he'd stared at the man's fine yet masculine featured body from the distance. It was just enough larger than his own to make him feel safe in its embrace…. Only.. It was JUST a handshake. Tseng pulled away visibly flushing even more.

"Tseng…" He pronounced the name exactly as Tseng had… "You are not Japanese?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

"No, my mother was Japanese… but she married a man from China. And that is where I grew up. But I always wanted to come to my mother's home and study. And that I am." Tseng's face cleared a bit and went to picking up his tray. He might as well pack up. He'd be far too ashamed to continue, he thought to himself sadly. Though… he should have asked permission first…

"She must be so happy for you then." Vincent said softly and looked back towards the river.

"Oh, she… passed away when I was young… as soon as I was old enough to do so on my own, I came here." He put the painting down on its back on the grass and answered solemnly. Then proceeded to fold up his easel and put away his paints into his backpack. Then slid the painting tray that was still covered in sticky paint into a plastic bag and began to wipe off his brushes. Placing them all into the bag.

Vincent meanwhile had looked sadly at the smaller man and then at the painting that was quite beautiful…. "I am sorry… I too have lost someone dear. And this place here… makes me feel close to them."

"I am terribly sorry for upsetting you. It was wrong of me to paint you without your knowledge." Tseng said watched the man's once again saddened expression return. "And now that I know the depth of this place and what it means to you, I feel even worse. Please… take this, it is yours then." He handed the painting to him.

"I will happily take it, it will make me feel even closer to this special place now. You needn't apologize… in fact… this is so stunning and beautiful I want to repay you. Why….. did you want to paint me though?" He looked down into the deep chocolate brown eyes of the painter.

"I, don't know…" Tseng replied softly. "I guess… I am chasing something that is unattainable for me to truly place on a canvas…" He felt his mouth go dry as the taller man leaned over him.

Vincent watched as Tseng's eyes went wide… he leaned down and lifted the man's chin. "Will you paint me again?" He asked only inches from Tseng's face.

Tseng swallowed, his heart was thudding so hard in his chest. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. This man whom he had made up so many different stories and lives about was standing here in front of him, so close… and ASKING him to paint him? What should he… "Yes!" He half shouted.

Vincent laughed lightly, but paused and turned towards the river once more. He seemed to ponder something and Tseng didn't want to break his concentration. When he spoke again, it was soft and very sad. The man almost sounded broken. "I consider myself a monster… but you paint me… like… I am something warm… and … something…" He trailed off and ran his finger along the bare edge of the piece of artwork.

"I do not know you." Tseng started before he could stop himself… "But I think I found what I was looking for. I wanted to capture the heart of fall. And you hold that… you Vincent, are the heart of fall. And I would be honored if I could paint you properly" He laid his hand on the back of the larger one on the outside of the canvas. The smile he gave the dark man was true and real. And the words he'd spoken he knew were true.

Vincent reflected his smile back. "I would be honored if you would paint me Tseng… Will I see you tomorrow then?" The very sure and silent nod he got was all he needed. As he gently and slowly walked away with the gift of a painting in his hands.

He wanted to know the real story behind this man. His Heart of Fall...

~~~End~~~

A/N: sorry this ended up so short. I know its not like me. In a way I really wanted to go further. Like 4 times further at least! But for once I wanted to keep it simple, sweet, harmless… and short! It was a true challenge for me to do that. As I finally came up with this setting I wanted to expand it greatly.


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